decision to take in a foster child, score one's life


   On days where I don’t quite feel right, I often find myself going back to think about how I would evaluate success in life. I’ve got my masters in project management, and I know how to evaluate success on each and every goal I’ve set if I was to be so inclined. It’s just such measures seem so shallow.


   I find myself coming around to a sort of duplicate bridge way of evaluating my life from day to day. In duplicate bridge tournaments, people play specific hands. Then they move on to other specific hands such that at the end of the tournament a rating is based on how well you did in all of the situations with everyone having played with the same cards and distributions. Sometimes losing by one trick (the smallest loss possible), is a great result as others lose the same hand by an average of 4. It’s not just how well you did. It’s how well you did with the cards you were dealt. 

   As I look at my life through a duplicate scoring lens, I’m coming to think a person or a society might be better judged not by what they do or don’t do but rather by how much of what they could have done was done. If I could have cleaned the house but instead chilled out by the TV, I’ve not done what I could have done. On the other hand if I legitimately have 0 energy, not tending the roses isn’t something about which I should feel unsuccessful. I still did what I could.

    I think about this as we are asked to take another kid in August. As Jill and I talk about it, we both think we can, and we both feel we would be the best home for him as he is already comfortable in our madness from respite care. Having him around has brought out the best in our kids in terms of them learning to shower love on one unable to express or possibly return the same emotions. This leads me to the feeling we should take care of him because we can even if it is not easy. I was lucky enough to be born relatively athletic to parents who made sure I was educated enough to be responsible for my thoughts. I wasn’t born dumb, and I was raised here in the U.S. where options for how to live my live are many. With all of these advantages, wouldn’t others, if given the same conditions I am in, do as well? I know I have MS, and it limits me and my family. However, I was given a pretty strong hand. Maybe it’s even the hand of 5 aces. I just find myself hoping when my life ends others will look back thankful for my life instead of feeling I have wasted it and all of its opportunities. 

Share
destruction is easy, Osama's death, teaching to build

U.S. should be about more than death

More than a decade after the Cole, the twin towers, the pentagon and a field in PA were hit, Osama Bin Laden has been killed in Pakistan.


Good riddance. May he find some of the peace he took from our lives in his next.

It’s odd to me. I find myself happy to rid of Osama Bin Laden, but I share little of the jubilation I see and hear about on the TV and radio. In fact, I feel a little sad to be happy about his death. Maybe it’s a sadness to see our citizens think his death is one we should cheer, one which should be greeted by the singing of the Star Spangled Banner and chanting USA at the White House.

I think my hard time reconciling the way I feel about his death stems from a deep seeded belief the U.S. should be about more than death and our ability to deliver it. The true nature of an idea should be what progress it inspires, what new comes from it. When I think of the U.S., I think of an ideal made reality. I think of all we have built, all whose lives have been improved, all the technology, all the lives saved, and all whom we have inspired to pursue liberty and freedom. These are the true ways in which I would measure us as a society, and yet I find myself cheering on the inside for the death of a man on the other side of the world because he inspired others to hurt us over a decade ago.
Had we spent half the money we spent chasing him instead on rebuilding the twin towers, we could have had a lasting marvel. Instead we have thousands dead on our side and “theirs” with billions spent, but we did get our guy. I should probably be happier. After all, as a country we paid a lot for this feeling.

I just wish I didn’t get the feeling we need parental supervision as a country. I think of what I have to tell my screaming daughter after my son nocks down her block tower, “Did you have fun building it? Have you screamed at him for longer than it would have taken you to build it again? You got out the blocks to build, so build. Your brother is too young to understand the greater challenge is in the building, not the destruction. Destruction is the easy road for those who don’t yet know how to build. Maybe in time he will learn. Maybe you could show him.” Maybe we will watch and learn.

Maybe I can feel better just knowing we might start trying to build now. The target of our wrath has left our world.  It’s time to relearn the art and joy of making.

Share

Our Family's Stories of Growing Up

%d bloggers like this: